


I Hope That You Understand

by Harpokrates



Series: Little Lies [7]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 09:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24847420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harpokrates/pseuds/Harpokrates
Summary: A shift in a relationship. Seismic, maybe.
Relationships: Boba Fett/Luke Skywalker
Series: Little Lies [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596328
Comments: 8
Kudos: 101





	I Hope That You Understand

"Stop throwing things."

Luke looked at Fett. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was giving the impression of frowning.

"Land somewhere with a decent scrapyard so I can fix your lift engage." Luke didn't sit up. He was currently sprawled in the co-pilot's seat, his legs dangling over one arm rest and his head lolling over the other one. He tossed his spanner again, only for Fett to snatch it out of the air.

"Hey!"

"Don't throw things on my ship." Fett wagged the spanner at him, then tucked it in his belt.

Luke considered using his tricks to get it, but the hovering one made him sick, for reasons beyond simple exhaustion. Instead he sagged back into the chair.

"Can you like, shoot something so I can fix it? Maybe break the comm again?"

"I could shoot your gonk droid."

"Sure. It'll be real fun falling out of hyperspace and ending up as a smear on," Luke tilted his head to look at the nav console, "Sinta. Why are we so far into the Kastolar sector? I thought you had a bounty in Coruscant."

"Change of plans."

Fett's plans changed all the time, because he was constantly getting new bounties and dropping old ones as they were picked off by other bounty hunters, but Luke got an odd impression from the words. Fett wasn't lying, but he was withholding. 

"Where are we heading?"

"Taris, then to Yavin. Then Coruscant."

Luke tried to imagine a map of the Galaxy. "Are you visiting Mandalore?"

"No. Why?"

"I thought you were Mandalorian."

"The armor is Mandalorian. I'm not."

"Huh." Luke shrugged, and burrowed more securely under his poncho. It was draped over him like a blanket. "It's cold in here."

"Anything else you want to complain about?"

Luke eyed him. Fett was checking the hyperspace and fuel readouts, which meant his back was to Luke.

"Sure." Luke lunged for his spanner. Fett reacted, well, the way he expected Fett to react, and that was by snatching his wrist without looking and slamming Luke back into the bulkhead.

"Just a joke!" Luke yelped, holding his free hand up.

Fett heaved a rumbling sigh, and let his hand go. He didn't move.

"Ah, are you going to let me up?"

Fett just sort of… leaned there, pressing them chest to chest. Luke had been scrawny even before Jabba, but even a Wookie powerlifter would have trouble moving Fett in his armor.

"Why? What's wrong? It's a joke, right?" Fett let a little more of his weight rest on Luke.

"Yeah, haha." Luke wheezed. "Ass. Fatass."

"Uh-huh. Keep talking." Fett reached over and adjusted the fuel consumption. Luke considered. His hands were free; he could try bopping Fett on the head or pinching him until he moved, but that was more likely to just annoy him. Luke could cry Uncle and retreat back to his room, but that was giving in, and he had a reputation for being as hard headed as an Armored Dune Worm. They were at an impasse.

Unless…

No, that was a terrible idea. Luke did it anyways.

He'd meant to yank Fett's helmet off, which likely would have gotten him subspaced, but instead he managed to cram his fingers up inside Fett's helmet, his fingertips resting on Fett's jawline.

"What are you doing." It wasn't a question, and Luke didn't really care. Fett's mouth moved when he spoke.

"I wasn't really sure you were organic under there." Luke said. Fett was wearing an open faced balaclava under his helmet. The seams rested just under his cheeks. Luke moved his fingers up and found skin, and scruff. "You're human."

"What, you think I was a Wookie?"

"With your attitude, it wouldn't be a surprise."

Fett snorted. The air puffed against Luke's fingers. Fett's skin was unusually warm under the armor, but if he wore a bodyglove under the jumpsuit, then it made sense. His jaw was firm and solid and wide.

"How do you turn your rangefinder on?" Luke asked.

"There's a switch. I use my tongue."

Luke grimaced. "I really hope you didn't get this helmet used."

"The targeting scope switch is just under your right middle finger."

Luke watched him through the smoked glass of his helmet. He imagined he could see the ghost of a feature—a broad nose, dark eyes, but he was probably projecting one of the million faces Fett could have had. 

"Pretty convenient, I guess." Luke said. "Handsfree and all."

He shifted his hands inward, so the edges of his thumbs rested on the corners of Fett's mouth. 

"Yeah." His mouth moved under Luke's fingers. Luke shifted his thumbs back and forth, running the calloused skin over Fett's scruff. He pulled his thumbs apart. "Smile."

Fett didn't respond.

"Are you mad?" Luke pulled Fett's lips down into a frown. He took a chance and ran the pad of his thumb over Fett's lower lip. It was chapped, rough. When Fett exhaled, a little puff of warm, hot air hit Luke's thumb.

"What are you doing." Fett said again, quietly. His mouth moved under Luke's thumb.

"I'm not sure." Luke whispered back. He pressed his thumb against Fett's lips. Boba opened his mouth, just slightly. He had straight, even teeth.

They were both breathing heavier. Every time Fett inhaled, he pressed Luke against the bulkhead. Chest to chest, except for Luke's thin shirt and Fett's armor. Fett's hand was loosely curled around the hem of Luke's tunic. When had that happened? His other hand dangled beside them.

Luke pressed his thumb past Fett's teeth and rested it on his tongue. For a second, he was aware how deeply stupid this looked. Two grown men, fighting over a hydrospanner, one cramming his fingers in the other's mouth. It didn't feel silly. It felt...

Luke curled his free hand under Fett's balaclava, tugging it down to his chin. His chin was bristley too, but his skin was remarkably smooth. He was either younger than Luke thought, or a lifetime of wearing a mask did wonders for the skin.

The dancers at Jabba's often complained what Tatooine's binary suns did to their skin, worrying about wrinkles and burns, and lathering themselves in protective lotions every time Jabba took them out on his barge. 

Fett's other hand came up to Luke's waist, gripping just above his hip.

His face was scarred—not gruesomely, but he had little welts and streaks of raised skin. Luke traced one from his jaw up his cheek, until his hand ran out of room to move. "What's this one from?"

"Ship crash," Fett said around his thumb.

Luke found another—under his eye and leading up to the bridge of his nose. "This one?"

"Fight on Ord Mantell." He didn't say anything after that, because Luke pressed down on his tongue. Fett made a noise like a half-realized gag, but he didn't jerk his head back. His hand clamped down harder on Luke's hip, hard enough to leave a mark. Luke inhaled sharply.

He dipped his hand down into Fett's balaclava, running his thumb along the strong line of Fett's jaw. His pulse thrummed under Luke's fingers, hot and strong and steady. Fett swallowed. His throat bobbed.

"You…" Luke found himself leaning forwards. He didn't mean to, but his hand slipped up and hit Fett's helmet. He caught a flash of tan skin as Fett's helmet dipped up to his jawline, before Fett stumbled back. Luke stood there, his hands frozen in the air, breathing heavy. Fett watched him for a few seconds before turning and leaving for his room. It wasn't fleeing, but it was close. Luke's legs gave out and he slumped down to the floor.

"Ow," he muttered under his breath and shifted, trying to get less uncomfortable. He looked at his hand before wiping it off on his pants and covering his face.

"What the hell am I doing?" He whispered. Luke looked up at Gonk. "Don't you say anything."

Gonk beeped.

"I can tell I'm an idiot on my own, thanks." Luke leaned his head back against the bulkhead. He rubbed his fingers together. Fett gave off a lot of heat; they were still warm, and the skin on his thumb was pruned.

Luke sighed. He was becoming like Lyn Me. The twi'lek dancer couldn't go five minutes without talking about how wonderful Fett was. Her infatuation had been funny at first, given Fett's (incorrect, apparently) reputation as a casanova, but Jabba was delighted by the Max Rebo Band, and she would not shut up about him.

Whelp. Luke would have to go back to Tatooine and apologize.

He heaved himself to his feet and returned to the pilot's seat. They hadn't drifted off course during… that, which was good, given the unreliability of the autopilot.

It was another standard week to Yavin, including all the stops Fett would make for bounties. Who knew what would happen?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm quickly running out of lyrics for titles. Why didn't I pick a longer song?
> 
> Speaking of songs, while the overall theme of this series is Little Lies, by Fleetwood Mac, this particular one is Shake the Disease, by Depeche Mode.
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading!


End file.
